The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 24

"No, we can't have him," he was roundly declaring; "the Club must be select, or it is useless to discuss it further."

"Must draw the line somewhere," murmured the Honourable Frederic.

"Quite so; at this rate we shall be admitting all the 'Jolly Trojans.'"

Just then an enormous wheelbarrow was observed approaching, seemingly by supernatural means, for no driver could be seen. The barrow was piled to a great height, and staggered drunkenly from side to side of the road; but the load, whatever it was, lay hidden beneath a large white cloth.

"H'm!" said the little Doctor dubiously. "Well, of course, you know best, but I should have thought that as an old inhabitant of Troy--"

"Pooh, my dear fellow," snapped the Admiral, "it is natural that the feelings of a few will be hurt; but if once we begin to elect the 'Jolly Trojans'--"

The barrow had drawn near meanwhile, and now halted at the Admiral's feet. From behind it stepped into view an exceeding small boy, attired mainly in a gigantic pair of corduroys that reached to the armpits, and were secured with string around the shoulders. His face was a mask of woe, and he staunched his tears on a very grimy shirt-sleeve as he stood and gazed mutely into the Admiral's face.

"Go away, boy!" said Admiral Buzza severely.

The boy sobbed loudly, but made no sign of moving.

"Go away, I tell you!"

"'Tes for you, sir."

"For me? What does the boy mean?"

"Iss, sir. Missusses orders that I was to bring et to Adm'ral Buzza's; an' ef I don't pay out Billy Higgs for this nex' time I meets wi' 'un--"

"The child's daft!" roared the Admiral. "D---- the boy! what has Billy Higgs to do with me?"

"Poured a teacupful o' water down the nape o' my breeches when I'd got ha'f-way up the hill an' cudn' set the barrow down to fight 'un--the coward! Boo-hoo!" and tears flowed again at the recollection.

"What is it?"

"Cake, sir."

"Cake!"

"Iss, sir--cake."

The youth stifled a sob, and removed the white cover from the wheelbarrow.

"Bless my soul!" gasped the Admiral, "there must be some mistake."

"It certainly seems to be cake," observed the Honourable Frederic, examining the load through his eye-gla.s.s; "and very good cake, too, by the smell."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "It certainly seems to be cake," observed the Honourable Frederic.]

He was right. High on the barrow, and symmetrically piled, rested five-and-twenty huge cakes--yellow cakes such as all Trojans love-- each large as a mill-stone, tinctured with saffron, plentifully stowed with currants, and crisp with brown crust, steaming to heaven, and wooing the nostrils of the G.o.ds.

"Bless my soul!" repeated the Admiral, "but I never ordered this."

Each member of the group in turn advanced, inspected the cake, sniffed the savour, p.r.o.nounced it excellent, and looked from the Admiral to the boy for explanation.

"Mrs. Dymond down to the 'Man-'o-War' sent et, sir, wi' her compliments to Maaster Sam, an' hopin' as he'll find et plum i' the bakin' as it leaves her at present, an' the currants all a-picked careful, knowin' as he'd a sweet tooth."

"Sam! Do you mean to tell me that Sam--that my son--ordered _this?_ Upon my word, of all--"

"Didn' azackly order et, sir. Won et fair an' square. Bill Odgers comed nex' wi' seven-an'-ninety gallon. But Master Sam topped the lot by a dozen gallon aisy."

"Gallons! What the devil is the boy talking bout?"

"Beer, sir--beer; fust prize for top score o' beer drunk down to the 'Man-o'-War' sence fust o' November last. He's a wunner for beer, es Maaster Sam," pursued the relentless urchin, who by this time had forgotten his tears. "Hunderd an' nine gallons, sir, an' Bill Odgers so jallous as fire--says he'd ha' won et same as he did last time, on'y Maaster Sam's got the longer purse--offered to fight 'un, an'

the wuss man to pay for both nex' time."

Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys turned aside to conceal a smile. Lawyer Pellow rubbed his chin. The Admiral stamped.

"Take it away!"

"Where be I to take it to, plaise, sir?"

"Take it away--anywhere; take it to the devil!"

But worse remained for the little man. During this conversation there had come unperceived up the road a gentleman of mild appearance, dressed in black, and carrying under his arm a large parcel wrapped about with whitey-brown paper.

The new-comer, who was indeed our friend Mr. Fogo, now advanced towards the Admiral with a bow.

"Admiral Buzza, I believe?"

The Admiral turned and faced the speaker; his jaw fell like a signal flag; but he drew himself up with fine self-repression.

"Sir, I am Admiral Buzza."

"I have come," said Mr. Fogo, quietly pulling the pins out of his parcel, "to restore what I believe is your property (Will somebody oblige me by holding this pin? Thank you), and at the same time to apologise for the circ.u.mstances under which it came into my hands.

(Dear me, what a number of pins, to be sure!) I have done what lay in my power with a clothes-brush and emery-powder to restore it to its pristine brilliance. The treatment (That is the last, I think) has not, I am bound to admit, answered my expectations; its result, however, is as you see."

Here Mr. Fogo withdrew the wrapper and with a pleasant smile held out--a c.o.c.ked hat.

The Admiral, purple with fury, bounced back like a shot on a red-hot shovel; stared; tried to speak, but could not; gulped; tried again; and finally, shaking his fist in Mr. Fogo's face, flung into the house and slammed the front door.

The cause of this transport turned a pair of bewildered spectacles on the others, and found them convulsed with unseemly mirth. He singled out the Honourable Frederic, and addressed himself to that gentleman.

"I have not the pleasure to be acquainted with you, sir; but if you can supply me with any reason for this display of temper, believe me--"

"My name is Goodwyn-Sandys, sir, at your--"

"What!"

Mr. Fogo dropped the c.o.c.ked hat and sat down suddenly among the cakes.